Don't Forget To Wear Flowers In Your Hair
by Gitana
Summary: Buffy, now an old lady, is dying. Spike and Angel are by her side


**"Don't Forget To Wear Flowers In Your Hair"**

**By:** Gitana  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** Buffy, now an old lady, is dying. Spike and Angel are by her side.  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Disclaimer:** Basically, it ALL belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon.

"Don't you love her anymore?"

"Every day, mate."

The woman in discussion has been sick for a few years now, suffering humanity in places that hurt in so many different ways and in so many different levels she could but moan. For her, the worst part of it was resisting help, letting herself die in such painful ways that her throat would flood with screams so intense that never left her mouth because the sole attempt could kill her. She was done and she knew it. Everyone knew it. She had died before, more than once she had been beyond her body and her flesh, but this time she would not comeback. This time she felt it coming from all corners - the freezing cold bending the bones in her chest, her whole anatomy giving way to a permanent and cruel winter. She hated it, she hated it but there was no way she would stop it. Too old now, anyway.

"She started having nightmares a week ago; she's old. Her hands tremble at every shadow. She's still tough but her body is fragile, getting weaker day by day. Look at her –she's just not the same."

"Has she said anything? Does she have any special requests? Anyone she wants to see before... Anyone other than me?"

"No. Everybody has been coming to see her. They came the second they found out; you should see their faces when they see her and the way they hide it from her, try to hide it, I should say."

"At least she looks like she's in peace, you know? Pain free and rested"

"But we know better."

"Unfortunately."

The two men now talked in the usual manner friends that hadn't seen each other in years talked, but they weren't friends when they last saw each other – they loved the same woman they're now watching die knowing that she suffers. They both can stop it, but she won't let them. She was a young girl when they met her. In a way, she'll always be. The first time they saw her she had sixteen springs in her skin and in her fresh mouth. One of them loved her, the other planned her murder in delight, planned the death he now tries to stop. Calculated the pain he now cries over every single forsaken night of his life, he loves her so damn much.

"How is Dawn taking it?"

"Badly."

"Is she upset about Buffy letting herself go?"

"Dawn understands this is a natural process; she's more upset over being left alone."

Buffy was the aged girl on her back, in a white bed with white sheets and white walls. She needed the dull atmosphere so she wouldn't miss anything, she wanted nothing resembling a life that could call onto her and make her violently nostalgic. The next best thing she had to color in her room was her paintings. Nothing fancy of course, just a few shapes and lines she hoped would make her remember her stay in Europe, a vacation she would never forget by looking at a white horizon. Buffy was amazed with what she saw in the old continent, but instead of trying to write it down she picked up a little brush and brushed away. Europe made her feel sexy at night, just the essence of the history. For the painting she used light tones that could, from a distance, be confused with stains of times past.

She felt sexy with him, with both of them, actually. But Spike was special. He did it unconsciously, when her heart would find no rest with him next to her smelling so good, feeling so deep. Angel was another creature; he was all love, all epic... He was the one that would talk you out of and into anything. Spike was the spark; she needed that spark after she came back from her second death, and he gave it to her until he died also.

"What about her prophetic dreams? She still has them, right?"

"Sometimes. She's been dreaming of giant butterflies."

"Butterflies don't live for that long after they're born."

Neither of the men saw this day coming; no slayer ever lived past twenty-five. Friends from way back returned for the ex-Slayer. Her dying became a celebration of her life, like all great lives at the end. Most of her friends are just as old, but none have the scars Buffy has.

"Is Faith still around?"

"She comes and goes... L.A. is still a bad influence, so she keeps away. I did tell her about Buffy last time I saw her."

"I guess she doesn't want Buffy to see her. Buffy would be disappointed."

"Buffy knows. I told her last night."

Angel stood up as Spike's blue eyes followed his every movement. Angel took a glance at Buffy's room, he saw her from a distance, looked at her one last time.

"I have to go. I have people in L.A. waiting for me."

"Sure."

Angel walked away, leaving behind shreds of his past love and obsessions. After taking Angel to the door, Spike walked in to the white room once again. His hair was messy. Biting his tongue with his fangs, he dealt with the torture of seeing his love vanishing from his side, from his life. He couldn't believe it. He took her hand, kissed the thin fingers for the last time. He noticed her heart slowing down, her chest wasn't rising anymore. He took her slowly, hugged her, and kept her close. She was so cold that even _he_ could feel it. Her heart was fading, taking away her breath. Spike's tears rolled down his young, ageless face. He held her closer, "Nah Slayer, stay with me; the sight of a young man so old inside, holding a very old woman that hadn't lived nearly half as long as he had. A woman he had loved throughout their time together. The thought that in the world they lived, the illusion of the eye could deceive the experience of the soul. There would no response to his wild sobs. "Nooo... No.. Ah...", he gasped in confusion, still holding her hand but kneeling down on the floor next to her body. "Wake up, love. I'm waiting, love." But she wasn't coming back and he knew it.

For the last time he took a closer look at her, kissed her forehead and walked away in pieces, a mad man. Lost. Angel knew this would be his reaction; he kept close to the apartment after pretending to exit. Watching Spike walk away in a sea of tears and pain was his sign to get in to that apartment and take Buffy's body to where she could be properly buried.

Angel found a lifeless Buffy and a note from Spike that read like this:

_You take care of her now, I can't stay. I've been with her for so long that I can't stand being in the same room with her when she's not there. Now it's your turn. She wanted her body to rest in Sunnydale, I'm sure you'll find an empty space in the desert left of what is now a buried town. I'll be around. _

_PS: You're still a bad liar. How many centuries will it take?_

Angel chuckled; they knew each other too well. But there she was, dead and beautiful. Time could not touch her beauty, not even the lines around her green eyes and mouth. Not even the white hair flowing around in the air on her way back to heaven.

While going nowhere, Spike remembered all the years he had with his Slayer, what years they were. Before, he ignored passion could be so sharp, like a sword. Angel traveled in his car with a corpse, a fragment of the one he once adored. On his way to Sunnydale memories wouldn't rest his soul. Both men were by now so full of her.

On a romantic night Buffy was finishing a powerful book about a strong woman whose life was as far from a fairytale as it could. At the end it contained a great quote that had become Buffy's favorite, and she would repeat it every time she could: "I wish I could love someone so much I would die from it." Spike knew he was on his way.

The End


End file.
